


everyone is better than me

by placeless



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Suicide, Suicide Attempt, This is so cliche, best buy incident, i don't care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 10:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4742375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placeless/pseuds/placeless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>my take on the best buy incident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	everyone is better than me

**Author's Note:**

> this probably sucks but i don't care

during his teen years, pete had always wondered what it would be like to die. what it would be like to kiss the cruel world every human calls home goodbye — what it would be like to drift away into permanent darkness; silence; _death._

now he’ll finally get to find out.

the pills are spread out on the passenger seat next to him, and in the distance the hazy lights of _best buy_ flicker. it’s past midnight — the world is silent here. it isn’t elsewhere, but in this parking lot, in this car, it is. and he’s fine with that because the world was too goddamn noisy before — always filled with excited fans or screeching tires or the buzz of a night club; with faded echoes of people shouting his name or the drone of a television.

his vision is becoming blurry, his head starts to hurt, his throat tingles — his body shuts down. it’s taking longer than he’d anticipated. he’s impatient.

there’s no suicide note with him, so he decides to leave one in the form of a phone call. _patrick._

he loves patrick so goddamn much it hurts. he doesn’t love him romantically, or sexually, or anything like that — he loves him platonically, but it still makes his heart ache when he thinks of being in a place without patrick stump.

in his life, pete is a sinner, with vices spewing from his lips and the devil dancing behind his eyes. but patrick… he’s an angel. all pure and golden, like the stars shining above his head — all pretty symphonies and words laced with beauty. pete doesn’t deserve him. but he’s still going to call him.

the phone rings a few times before he picks up, and pete can tell he’s just woken up because his voice is sleepy as he asks, “pete? why’re you calling me?”

he sinks lower into the driver’s seat. his voice almost fails him — _almost_. his stomach churns and his throat scratches, but he still says, “you’re a really great person, pat. like, _really_ great.”

“oh yeah?” the sound of rustling sheets fills the phone. “and why’re you telling me this at two in the morning?”

“because i don’t think i’m going to be there to tell you tomorrow,” pete says. he’s not a blunt person normally, but today can be an exception.

he can almost hear the confusion in patrick’s voice when he asks, “what’s that supposed to mean? are you drunk?”

his laugh sounds used and worn. not because he laughs a lot. well, that’s a lie. he just laughs at things that aren’t funny — he’s wasted all his laughter on people that don’t deserve it. on people that tell shitty jokes that he felt compelled to laugh at in fear of being judged. what a shitty way to spend his life. “no, i’m not drunk. but i may as well be.” he takes a breath — it’s more difficult than it should be. “i’m gonna miss you, patrick.”

“i’m not going anywhere,” patrick says.

“but i am.” pete’s voice is becoming shaky as the minutes pass. soon he’ll be dead. he knows he will be.

patrick sounds concerned now. “what do you mean? where are you going? where _are_ you?”

“i’m in a car. and i don’t know where i’m going. do you believe in hell? because i don’t, so i don’t think i’ll go there. i think i’m just going to nowhere.”

there’s a moment of silence as patrick processes this information. maybe someone else wouldn’t understand, but patrick does. and his voice cracks as he says, “please don’t tell me that you’re doing what i think you’re doing.”

“i can’t.” patrick is hundreds of miles away, somewhere in new york. he can’t do anything.

he doesn’t panic because he’s a calm person. he instead says, “throw them up. throw the damn pills up.”

“i don’t want to.” pete knows he sounds childish, but all his life he’s been trying to act mature so maybe he wants to act like a kid for once.

“i swear to god, pete.” now patrick sounds angry, which doesn’t fit his persona of _angel sent from above._ “throw them up. throw them up right now.”

his vision is getting more blurry and he says, “it’s too late, pat.”

he hears furious typing on the other end and vaguely wonders what patrick is doing, but doesn’t say anything because his vocal cords have strained themselves enough. the darkness creeps into his vision. it’s like he’s underwater — patrick might be saying something, but it’s all just a muffled buzz now. his ears ring, and his hands drop his phone. everything is on fire now. his throat, his stomach, his head, his eyes, his heart.

his eyes close just as his car door opens. he hopes for death in his state of nothingness, but the sound of sirens wailing and someone shouting at him tells that that’s not going to happen.

a new beginning. a new end. maybe he'll have to start over.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for getting to the end


End file.
